Bitter Oblivion
by thirteen-forty-two
Summary: AU!Shizaya - Izaya has resorted to alcoholism as an escape and is picked up by Shizuo, who is intent on seeing him get his life together.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Sorry... This is the last story that I'm trying to finish and I've waited too long and too eagerly to try to get it up and it's just not going as planned at all. I know I said that Chronic was probably the last of my long fics, and this one was never meant to be as long as it is so far. I'm approaching 50k words with about another 20-30k before. Only my beta has seen it and I'm just too anxious to keep it in any longer. I've also been having really bad writer's block and I admit that even though this story is well past what it was meant to be (10k for the bigbang challenge), it's not done and I haven't been working on it. So I'm hoping that maybe it's because I'm just bad at keeping things to myself and having shared it with people will help me finish.

Also, this story DOES start off with IzayaxNamie and I DO ship the pairing. However, this is a SHIZAYA fic (though it might take a little while to get there). So if you're reading this note, be patient and we'll get there.

If you don't like alternate universe story lines, this is not the story for you.

If you can't handle my writing ever being out-of-character, this is not the story for you.

If you are sensitive to drug/alcohol abuse, this may not be the story for you.

If you are looking for PWP or a lot of sex, this is not the story for you.

If you can't handle angst, this is not the story for you.

If you can't handle character death, this is not the story for you.

But I promise fluff and bickering along the way, and I ask that you give this AU!fic a chance.

Thank you!

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><p><strong>Bitter Oblivion<strong>

_Just like the cigarettes hurt,__  
><em>_Just like the whiskey burns, woaho, woaho,__  
><em>_I guess I'm never gonna learn  
><em>_  
><em>-

Summer was in full swing less than a week into July.

If that much wasn't blatantly obvious, due to what felt like thousands of Japanese youths hitting the streets during a time that they'd regularly be in school, the festivals in every corner of the city were as good a giveaway as any.

Old fashioned tunes filled the air, floating through every human being's ears, filling their hearts with nostalgic sentiments for their cultural roots. Yukatas in every vibrant color were wrapped seamlessly around beautiful women and girls, ages three to seventy-two; creating a natural distraction for men who were all too easily influenced by such radiating beauty. And the smell – scents of traditionally cooked foods – wafted through the air, turning festival goers into gluttons between the games and dances.

Summer.

A wonderful time. A time for celebration. A time for fun. For relaxation. Memories. Love.

So tell me where it all went wrong. Tell me when the magic turned to poison. Tell me when the floor fell out from beneath my feet. Tell me how…

Tell me how I landed here, forcing a tar-colored liquid out of my stomach and feeling ripped further and further apart by each bitter heave.

Tell me when that sweet, warm honey turned to poison in my hands.

Tell me who I was when I was in love, and when she loved me back, or if it was all a lie. Give me the reasons why it fell through my fingers, replaced by agonizing thoughts. The truth to the reality I can never seem to escape.

"GET OUT!" she screamed, losing her final nerve.

I staggered out of her warpath just short of a bottle colliding with my skull.

"And take this filth with you!"

Instead, the olive glass exploded against the wall, its sweet contents slowly trickling down the wall.

"AAH! Seriously, Namie?" I stared wide-eyed at the mess, "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Get. Out."

Playing on a lacking innocence wouldn't get me anywhere this time. I wanted nothing more than to take her in my arms and tell her that it wasn't my fault. I wanted her to know that I loved her, but work had made certain demands of me… demands I couldn't resist even if I wanted to.

She wasn't having it. And it was that very revelation that turned innocence to taken aback rage. It crushed me that she wouldn't take me seriously.

"What the fuck?" I struggled to find my balance. "And go where? I fucking live here, too, you know!"

Hazy eyes could not see her face as clearly as they would have liked to. I could only feel a fraction of her own rage as my barrier of intoxication blocked out rational thought processing. Still, I knew better than anyone what it meant for her to lose that passive façade she always wore so well.

I watched her for a moment, distracted by her emerald sweater drooping off of her shoulder. In an instant, she was pushing it back up, shielding her milky flesh from my sight.

"Namie…" I whispered, using a soft tone to convince her to change her frazzled mind.

"Get away from me," she pushed against my pleading, "You reek."

"Namie, we can work it out," I reached a hand out to her air, only to be slapped down.

Even as my skin reddened, I felt nothing.

"I packed a bag for you. Leave before I call the police."

"The police?" I scoffed, narrowing my eyes, "It's my name on the fucking lease!"

She folded her arms, ready to stand her ground. "Not anymore. I told the landlord everything. He switched our names."

"Fuck! What the hell!"

"Who would rent an apartment to an irresponsible loser, Izaya?"

"Seriously?"

"Leave," her anger never wavered, and I knew she meant it word for word. "We're through."

"So… what? You're just going to throw away the past two years as if they never happened?"

"Of course not!" she sneered, ending it with a cruel laugh, "You did that all by yourself when you started drinking."

I shrunk back, angry and hurt, confused and panicked. "I told you I'm sorry."

"If you're sorry, it would have stopped by now."

"It's not my fault!" I declared, clenching at my heart, "You're all I have. The only one who loves me, Namie… don't shove me out like I'm garbage!"

"You _are_ garbage. And I do _not_ love you."

"E-excuse me!"

"I value myself far too much to become victim to the hell you've created for yourself. You're pathetic, and I don't have to live with it. I don't care where you go, but I don't want to see your face. You're nothing but a reminder of all the time I've wasted."

And I could tell that she meant it. With every gorgeous fiber of her being, Yagiri Namie did not love me as she once had.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Every time I go through this, I add changes and changes and more changes. So I'm just going to stop all of that and let you read it as it is. Enjoy it by your own free will.

Thank you for reading!

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><p>I don't remember much, but I do recall stumbling out of the bar, loaded up on fresh shots while searching for my balance, the same way I left the apartment which belonged to my now ex-girlfriend.<p>

Yep. Leave it to me to flee the scene, crashing out of the door in a fight with someone who doesn't want to put up with my shit. Leave it to me not to give a damn.

"Fuck you too, ya'old piece o' shit!" my words mashed together as I showed the bar's manager two middle fingers poking out of my sleeves as I walked backward, swaying in places where I was not tripping over my own feet.

He followed each of my steps to the curb, making sure that I wasn't returning after insulting several of his regular customers about their cheap taste in liquor, and even cheaper taste in fashion. Perhaps I should not have snapped at them to begin with, but they were idiots to think I couldn't hear their ongoing conversation. I heard everything, from the part where they questioned my gender, to the bit that set me off. The bit where they brought my parents into the mix.

"Don't you ever come back to my bar!" he roared, attempting – and of course failing – to instill fear in me. "We have no room for scum like you."

"Scum like me, ne?" I laughed, flipping my hood up over my head while making a mocking face, "Maybe you should tell your customers to spend less time downing their shitty beer, and teach'em not to judge a book by its cover."

"Tch," he scowled, adding more wrinkles to an ugly face, "Look at you. I'd say there's not much left of you that hasn't been picked apart already."

"What could you possibly know about me?" I spat, looking for a fight at this point.

My world wobbled as my eyes attempted to bore into his.

He looked me over once before coming to a conclusion. "You're a lowlife alcoholic. Pathetic and weak."

No matter how hard that hit me, I wasn't going to let it settle in the way he wanted it to.

I laughed, rolling my eyes a little. "You dunno shit!" I turned to totter away, only stopping when a brand new thought entered my deluded mind. "By the way, next time you wanna talk about someone's mother, remember the pig that fucked yours and impregnated her with you."

Pride for my most current accomplishment (yes, a petty insult of all things) was short-lived as a large fist came hurtling toward my face and connected with my jaw. Knowing I probably deserved the blow did nothing to lessen the pain… because it wasn't over yet. And I knew I deserved the forceful kick to my abdomen which followed the minute I staggered back and clashed to the damp pavement in an unceremonious heap.

I was wasted; numb in the face and the heart. Unfortunately, my disorientation was not as strong as I had assumed it to be, and the hits sobered me up much more than I wanted to allow.

He was kicking my ass, but all I could think about was a fresh bottle of vodka running down my throat and the warm, wonderful burn it came with.

When the beating finally came to an end, I curled into myself, watching him stomp off of the scene and back into his cheap hole in the wall. Sparing a moment, I attempted to put the breath back into my winded lungs while simultaneously using a striped sleeve to wipe away the blood that dribbled down my chin.

I was a bleeding drunk with nowhere to go, no cell phone to call for help, and no friends to call even if I did have a phone. Hell, even the few clients I had wanted nothing to do with me.

For the first time since I began dating Namie, I was alone in the world, believing that things couldn't get any worse. But I learned quickly that when you believe things will never be as bad as they are at one moment, it is a nonexistent God's way of metaphorically fucking you in the ass.

Mind focused on finding a bottle or bar elsewhere, I pulled myself up on two wobbly legs, and went in search of a convenience store.

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><p>A long time ago, quality meant something to me. Quality, higher prices or not, was worth what I paid for because I knew that I could never be let down. It had been about the taste; feeling good off of a concoction that my tongue could appreciate. But that was only at first.<p>

That's when the problem that I would never confess to having escalated into something far less controlled. As time moved forward, I no longer desired to satisfy my palette with intriguing flavors. I only wanted their aftereffects.

One drink became three. Three became seven. Seven became twelve. Soon, I was losing track of myself in the worst instance possible. And for what? What was it that I loved so much about intoxication that I was willing to destroy myself to obtain it?

Before too long, I had reached the point where I never felt quite right without it. My new sense of normality required a strong buzz at the very least. When I was not in possession of it, it was all I could think about. And when I had it, I never wanted to run out, or let it go.

I stopped caring about what people thought of me, allowing them to watch me sway out of a bar on numb legs. In my mind, it was people who did this to me. It was people, never able to accept that maybe, just maybe, I had something to offer the world… if only they would just open their eyes and see that there was something great within me.

I murdered that greatness; yet they were to blame.

I would never accept responsibility. I would never come clean and confess my sins.

Finding a cheap hotel at the west gate of Ikebukuro – with no memory of how I got that far from Shinjuku – I checked in, scoffing at the receptionist who dared to give me a disgusted onceover with her round eyes. I plucked the key out of her fingers without thanks, quickly making my way toward the elevator.

As I waited, hypnotized by the glowing digital numbers counting down each floor… twelve… eleven… ten… so on and so forth, I caught more whispers from behind my back.

"It's inappropriate," an older woman prattled on. "That young man! What a delinquent!"

"This is a respectable place," a man equal to her age agreed as they ranted at the woman who checked me in.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "It is not within my right to turn a customer away from our services."

"He's so intoxicated he probably wouldn't remember the rejection to begin with!" the man argued, "And look at him! Dressed like that!"

"I am uncomfortable staying in a building with a person like that roaming the halls!"

"Roaming?" I muttered under my breath. "This isn't even a two star hotel!"

I turned to steal a look at them just as the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Americans? Maybe Canadians. I giggled, not surprised to find that it was tourists complaining, and happily caught their stunned and appalled eyes with my own. When the doors slid closed, taking me to the fifth floor, I fell on my ass in a fit of laughter, entertained if only for my lacking sobriety.

Once within the confines of my room, I hit the minibar without hesitation; forgetting the day in its entirety as soon as the rum burned its way down my throat.

In those moments, I was convinced I could go on forever; that no matter how much I drank, and drank, and fucking drank, I was unstoppable. My body wanted to be fed this poison. It asked for it, and it was grateful each and every time I accepted those wishes.

My body was what mattered. And the useless opinion of those surrounding me meant nothing.

Tattered clothes, blood staining my chin, bruises beneath dirty flesh. None of it meant a thing, not even when I couldn't take another drop.

Forcing it down anyway, I accepted my mistake, using what little strength I had left to pull the trashcan over to the bedside and empty my stomach into with graceless aim just minutes before passing out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** I just want to address a few of things early on. :)

1. Namie's role in this story, as Izaya's (ex)girlfriend is important. Even if you do not ship IzaNamie (like I do), please DO NOT skip chapters. Nothing makes me facepalm more than seeing someone tell me that since they don't like a pairing, they skipped the chapter. To me, the first chapter is one of the most vital to the entire story, if not THE very most important. DO NOT SKIP. If you have to skip because a scene disagrees with your ship, I don't have any idea why you're here reading this.

2. This story IS a _Shizaya_ fanfiction. Please keep in mind that even if I go back to OTHER pairings, it IS and WILL BE Shizaya. However, you have been warned. OTHER pairings (especially Izaya x Namie) WILL be present in this story and if you skip, but plan to read everything else, this story will make NO sense to you.

3. In this story, Izaya is going to face some physical changes/development. Some people will probably hate this. Some may even appreciate it. Please note that I did not do anything "weird" in this AU!fanfiction without reason. All of the weird stuff that it seems IC Izaya would NEVER do... well... this is an alternate plain of reality. So bear with me.

4. To those of you saying, "This fic is OOC," Yes. I know. I'm aware. And still, I do the best with what I have and my best says to do what I want. Don't like it? Fine. Don't waste your time here. I'm not Narita. I don't know his characters as well as he does - no matter how much I adore them.

I'm not trying to sound mean or anything. I am very grateful for feedback, hits, favorites, alerts and the like. I love it and I'm happy to have readers. But because this is unlike ANYTHING I've ever done before, and because I'm taking quite a few risks that I've never taken, I want to put these warnings out there so you at least know SOME of what to expect. Because, honestly, if this isn't your kind of thing, I would much rather you read something you can thoroughly enjoy than waste your time on something you're not sure about, or sure you hate. I plan to keep updating and see this fic through to the end. I just don't want you to have reached the end disappointed that I didn't put out what you were hoping for. That's all.

Sorry for the long note. I hope you read it.

THANK YOU!

PS - I'm sorry this is "short." Next one will be longer. I promise.

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><p>Waking up had been my least favorite moment of each day. Waking up meant that I was headed back toward sobriety – regular consciousness, which was just too cruel a thing to ask of me.<p>

I rolled out of bed, still fully dressed from the night before; nauseous as the blood rushed from my aching head to even out through my body. My skull was pounding, and all I could remember of the night were tiny glimpses here and there. I recalled picking a fight largely because of the intense, stinging pain my abdomen, and the soreness of my jaw.

With those thoughts in mind, I pulled myself up, slowly trudging to the bathroom to inspect the damage.

Flicking on the lights, I flinched at the initial brightness invading my senses. Head throbbing harder, I closed my lids, until I felt safe enough to reopen my eyes without them falling out of my skull.

"Tch…." I leered, discovering a laughable sight in my reflection.

My hair was in its usual disarray, sticking up in every angle while my greasy bangs stuck to my face. Dark circles – a mixture between smudged eyeliner and purple bags of exhaustion – hung beneath my eyes, accentuating the redness of my eyes – so bloodshot and hideous; making me despise my unnatural irises more than I usually did. That awkward color reminded me only of the names thrown at me in elementary school, often earning me a cracked lip like the one I wore now. Swollen and caked with blood.

If there was anything to appreciate about my face, it was that the idiot who hit me hadn't taken the opportunity to rip out my nose ring, or the small plugs in my gauged ears. His fat fingers probably couldn't have fit through the holes anyway…

Still, what I expected to be a pretty nasty bruise continued to ache, burning as I pulled the fabric of my shirt up to take a look.

"Fuck…" I grumbled to myself, daring to brush my fingertips over the sensitive purple flesh, "Really? That fucking prick…"

The guy had clearly gone overboard, and had it not been for a rough record of my own, I probably would have considered reporting the assault to the police; maybe even suing the dickhead if I could afford a lawyer.

With those thoughts in mind, I decided I needed a shower before making my next move. Knowing that it was much too early to go back to Namie and beg her to let me back into my own home, I tried to consider my options without constantly going back to needing a drink to help me make up my mind.

Convinced that if I came back sober, after giving her a few more hours to calm down, I looked to the day with confidence; swearing to myself that this time things would be different. This time, I'd make her remember why she loved me to begin with, giving her no choice but to let me back into our apartment as well as her heart.

I could be the same irresistible guy she first fell for. I could still charm her the way I had charmed countless girls at bars, flirting and teasing and quite possibly leaving them with a kiss or two. I could get her back, and she would want me.

Somebody in this fucked up world would want me.

I was going to make sure of that. If anything, I was going to give somebody in this world something they never wanted to let go of, regardless my habits.

It was as I told her so many times before – the choice was mine. If I didn't want to be like this, I didn't have to be; always ignoring that when I was drunk I passed the blame onto something else. It wasn't me she didn't love. It couldn't have been. No, it was the alcohol. And so I believed.

If I could make her want me without it, I could make her want me with it too. I could make her accept that it wasn't the problem with our relationship, but her inability to accept that it felt so right.

I simply had to make her understand. She needed to see that with it, I was better. And if I was better, we – as a couple – were better. She only needed to open her eyes and see exactly as I saw.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Aaaah. Sorry these updates are so slow. I tend to be forgetful these days.

Thanks so much for the feedback. All of it. I'm glad you're interested in this story. Thank you. :)

I hope you enjoy this longer update.

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><p>"You look like you could use another drink," the bartender sighed, putting exactly that in front of me, "Rough day?"<p>

My hands trembled with both anxiety and excitement as I reached for the fresh glass, not even caring what the contents were anymore. "Something like that…" I responded, keeping my eyes low.

The buzz I'd been looking for was finally settling into my bloodstream. I'd attempted to stay straight all day; however, as the sun set over Ikebukuro, a certain twitch had me giving up once again. And who wouldn't? I already spent my day using payphone after payphone to call my girlfriend, never once receiving an answer. It hurt to be ignored as I desperately believed she didn't mean it when she kicked me out the night before. So, with that pain in mind, I _deserved_ to get a little relief.

"Girl troubles?" he wondered, as if reciting a line from a cliché heartbreak movie.

I rolled my eyes, taking a generous swig of the gin and tonic. "Mind if I ask you not to pry?"

With an apologetic smile, he complied, wiping down my end of the bar before tending to other customers. At the opposite end, he started up a new conversation with a pair of men patiently waiting to be served.

While I could not hear what they were asking for, I watched with forced interest as a tan-skinned man with dreadlocks appeared to be harassing his taller, blond companion, co-worker, boyfriend, or whatever the hell they were meant to be. I was only that much more entertained, when the man doing said harassing was handed a generous pint, while the blond took a straight soda.

Not a drinker? Then get the hell out of a bar.

Catching my staring, the pair looked over with suspicious eyes, forcing me to avert my gaze back to my empty drink. The bartender quickly swapped it out for another.

"Regulars of yours?" I nonchalantly gestured to the men, keeping my words smooth.

"Sorta."

"So is that guy just taking a break or is he too much of a pussy to hold is liquor?"

I don't know why it bothered me that the blond wasn't drinking. I don't know why I cared.

"_That_ guy!" the man had an honest look of stun scribbled across his face. "Officer Heiwajima don't drink, but he's the farthest thing from a pussy."

"Ah…" I shifted uncomfortably in my stool. "Cops?"

Just my luck… and the familiar sound of that name wasn't helping the situation much, either. I knew that name. I'd heard it before. But the memory was buried too far beneath the alcohol and less favorable thoughts to remember.

"Yeah. Damn good cops too. Had a few problems here a while back with some gangsters. These two come in, arrest a few thugs, and the entire neighborhood has been relatively crime-free ever since."

"I see… interesting…"

"Seriously!" he pressed on, continuing a conversation that I would have rather ended. "You oughtta see those guys. I wouldn't get on Officer Heiwajima's bad side. That guy goes nuts. Hates violence or some shit, but man, can he pack a punch."

Hates violence? It all seemed so familiar… and at the same time… _no_. It couldn't have been.

"They're staring, aren't they?" I smirked, sipping at my drink.

The bartender laughed a little, "Well, no offense, but we don't usually get guys like you in this place."

"Guys like me?" I echoed.

"Well, yeah. You're kinda the type that avoids this area."

"Oh…?" I leered skeptically, wondering what it was with people passing judgment before names were ever given. "What type is that?"

Of course, I was just as curious as I was irritated.

"The type that's in prison because of those guys you're wondering about," he seemed to feel guilty for what he was suggesting, quickly trying to cover for himself, "Not sayin' you are… but they may find you a little suspicious given their past encounters. I guess it's a look. I mean no harm by it."

Contemplating my current situation for a moment, I finished my drink and paid the guy who had just accidentally insulted me. Not wanting to make myself seem any more suspicious, I felt like I'd be better off at a new bar, one away from this area.

However, as I made my leave with the same stagger I usually carried myself with, I soon became aware that I was not alone.

Ignoring the sensations creeping up my spine, I walked down the street, using each accessible wall for support as I struggled to find the appropriate balance. It was not until my feet lead me to a particular vending machine that I stopped moving.

Rubbing my eyes, I blinked slowly at the lit up box, displaying each of its tantalizing contents to me. Whoever decided loading vending machines with alcohol was a good idea is a fucking genius because it took me all of five seconds for a fresh bottle of vodka to make it into my hands. Sliding down the wall, I made myself comfortable as I cracked it open and picked up where I left off.

I kept my thoughts to myself, deciding that now was as good a time as any to people watch. It was one of the few things that still remained hypnotic about Tokyo. The human life, no matter which city of the prefecture I found myself in, was limitless. All types of humans from cosplaying children to those workaholic businessmen who fall asleep on trains. It absolutely floored me to see each of them different, and all of them exactly the same, carrying on with their lives as if I did not exist… unless, of course, I was doing something to offend them.

For as much as I loved them, I couldn't help but feel just a little bitter that they could never look back at me with the same appreciative eyes.

"Hey, asshole. The fuck you think you're doing in this neighborhood?" a voice echoed in my head, far too distant as it was pushed back by a barrier of alcohol flowing through my system. "Hey, shithead! I'm talking to you!"

Realizing it would take at least twice the amount of vodka in my hands to truly drown out such an incessant and obnoxious voice, I glanced up at the guy who was practically dancing for my attention. In an instant, I found myself laughing at his ridiculous form as the world seemed to spin all around him.

"Problem, officer?" I grinned, setting my bottle down.

The idiot combed his stupid blond hair back with one of those idiotic combs that looks like a switchblade. Suddenly, I was tempted to pull the real thing out of my pocket.

"Yeah, there's a fuckin' problem!" he continued to mouth of, "We don't like your kind in this neighborhood, so get the fuck out!"

"Who is _we_?" I probed, quickly answered by three others approaching to back him up.

Was he really so threatened by me that he needed help scaring me off? I really didn't care.

"I see," I chuckled, "And what is my kind, exactly? Because I fear that you may be affiliating me with somebody I am not likely affiliated with, and that's just rude."

"Dirt bag!" he growled, "It's all 'cause of guys like you the cops are constantly lurking. We can't do shit without that Heiwajima comin' around the corner!"

Sighing, I tucked my bottle into my pocket, bringing myself to stand on quivering knees. "Seriously? I think you're accusing the wrong man, man," I exaggerated offense. "I haven't been to this part of Ikebukuro since I was a kid. So you can accuse me of petty crimes all you want, but that doesn't make it true."

I admit I was proud for sounding so casual despite the alcohol in my blood stream. I had nearly forgotten how lightheaded I truly was, especially when I found my way out of the sticky situation.

"Isn't that right, Officer?"

I snickered, watching the four thugs turn around with panic-filled eyes as the pair of cops approached the scene. The tall blond wore a familiar scowl on his face as be plucked the cigarette from his lips; throwing it to the ground to stomp out its remnants of life with the sole of his shoe.

With the spotlight off of me, I took my cue to disappear. Turning the nearest corner, I slipped down an alley, escaping to a perfect getaway to finish off the rest of my bottle in peace.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**: Aaah. Sorry for being so slow on these updates. I'm really trying to get back into the swing of writing and with work, cosplays and getting ready for school, I lose track of the time! I'll try to b better from now on!

Thank you for all of your reviews and favorites!

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><p>"Hey… Hey! Wake up!"<p>

In the depths of my clouded mind a voice aggravated my senses, pulling me out of unconsciousness.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, anyway?"

An angry voice at that…

"W-what?" I shivered, feeling the regular aches of my body as I pulled myself upright.

"You can't fucking sleep here. Get up."

My vision came halfway into focus before I recognized the two blurry figures before me. An irritated groan emitted from the back of my throat as I shot them each a cold glare.

"Fuck… sorry…" I attempted to stand, slumping back over from the dead weight of my overexerted form.

"Damn. How much have you had to drink?" a new voice entered, and the man with dreadlocks grabbed me by the upper arm, pulling me up from the pavement.

My joints cracked and my bones popped as I attempted to hold myself upright.

"Tch…" I always hated that question.

"Too much," the angrier voice of the blond answered for me, "Look at him, Tom. He was wasted before we even got to the bar! Shouldn't we take him in?"

"You know we can't do that," the man addressed as 'Tom' let out a heavy sigh, "He hasn't actually done anything wrong."

"You mean passing out on a public sidewalk is legal? I don't think so."

"You know as well as I do that it isn't something we can book him for, Shizuo."

"But it's a public disturbance."

"Oh really?" I chimed in, realizing that I had definitely heard this guy's name somewhere before. Had I been sober, I'm sure it would have clicked already. "Just who am I disturbing?"

"Me!"

"Oh, isn't that cute?" I chuckled, finding my balance as well as an empty liquor bottle. "My apologies, officer! Now if you'll excuse me…"

I attempted to slip away once again, only to find myself slammed against the nearest vending machine.

"Not quite yet," Tom shook his head, giving me an apologetic look for his partner's less-than-gentle actions. "We do have a few questions for you."

"I _may_ have answers," I said, gritting my teeth and glaring at the blond barbarian. "If you'll tell this caveman to let me go."

"Shizuo…" the cop warned.

"I don't trust him not to run," he growled.

"Perhaps I wouldn't feel like running if you weren't manhandling me," I hissed back.

"He won't run," insisted Tom, "If he does, then you can beat him up."

Probably getting his hopes up over what he had just been told by his partner, Officer Heiwajima released me. However, his untrusting gaze held mine; rage swirling within irises the color of aged tequila.

"Inquire away," I insisted, keeping my eyes narrowed.

"What's your relationship with those men back there?" he wasted no time asking.

"I've never seen them before in my life."

"So they aren't friends or enemies of yours?" this Tom was a very thorough person, I could tell.

"Negative. However, given the situation, I suppose I could consider them enemies now, ne?"

"Understandable."

"And what are you doing in this end of 'Bukuro?" Shizuo asked in a tone that said I surely did not belong here.

"Take that one up with my ex," I sneered, "I don't know what the fuck is going on, but I don't appreciate being treated like a criminal."

Regardless of having spent a few nights in a jail cell, and receiving a DUI six months before finding myself in this highly questionable situation, I knew I didn't deserve to take more shit – more judgment. I was sick of it. These societal attitudes that could lead a man to drink had clearly done exactly that, and these ignorant people had no idea just want they were stirring up within.

It hurt.

But nobody gave a shit.

"Well, I suppose that settles it then," the cop, Tom, had easily accepted that there was nothing linking me to this neighborhood's troubles, or the idiots that inhabited it. "Thank you."

"For what?" curiosity got the best of me, rather than leaving it at that and walking away. "Letting this ape throw me around like a ragdoll?"

"Screw you," the blond in question spat, clenching his fists at his side.

"Chill out, Shizuo," Tom warned, turning his attention back to me, "You can go home. We don't need anything more from you."

"Whatever," I shrugged, shoving past the blond as I made my way down the sidewalk. Nearly losing balance every few feet, it was decided that I needed to find a decent place to sleep, and soon.

"Well, he was a little strange," Tom commented barely in earshot.

When the conversation continued to reach my ears, I attempted to determine whether or not they were following me, realizing that we were all going in the same direction.

"More like an obnoxious, little flea," his partner grunted, giving me another chill of recognition.

If I'd had a clearer head, I _know_ I could have placed it…

"He's drunk, Shizuo. Leave him alone. You know? Just let it be?"

"Can't. Don't trust him."

"So what do you want to do?" I continued to eavesdrop, I agreed with the bespectacled officer while simultaneously putting distance between us.

The longer they followed, the worse it would look on me. For a moment, I considered turning into a nearby apartment building until the blond's mouth shot off again.

"I wanna fucking follow him and make sure he's not up to some shady shit!"

If he was attempting to be discrete, he was failing terribly. Unable to fool a drunk, there was no way he'd be fooling anybody. The brute was too blunt and too stupid to know otherwise. That much had been made obvious by his loud, unabashed attitude. I wondered if he was the type who always used a first impression to decide how he felt about a person. If so, it seemed to me that I was surrounded by precisely his kind.

"You think he is?"

"I fucking know he is!"

The man with dreadlocks chuckled lightly, probably feeling pretty relaxed thanks to the beer he had at the bar. "How can you tell?"

"He reeks of evil."

"He's drunk."

"Same difference."

Did this guy have some sort of grudge against alcohol? Fucking tightass. He probably needed to get laid.

Quickly becoming irritated by the ongoing conversation, so casual and stupid that it made a mockery of my very existence, I stopped in my path, turning to face the officers with a threatening glare. I didn't care who they were. Their legal authority held no power over me.

"Most of us learn as small children that it's rude to talk behind another person's back, ne?" I hissed, stuffing my hand in my pocket, and running my fingers over the blade tucked securely within. As if the cheap piece of metal would really provide me with much defense. My good knife had been left behind when I was kicked out of my own apartment.

With no intention of pulling it out on them, it was nothing but an idealistic source of comfort for me – the feeling of protection just knowing it was available when I felt threatened. I knew they were well protected and, truthfully, I envied it.

Tom let out an apologetic sigh. "Sorry, Shizuo doesn't mean it. He's just struggling with… anger issues."

"The hell I don't mean it," the blond barked stepping toward me.

I would have smirked at yet another of his advances when a wave of dizziness crashed over me, spinning my head round and round. Closing my eyes, I willed away the nausea which quickly followed, steadying myself against a nearby lamppost.

"Flattered, officer…" I breathed, still fighting the sickness bubbling in my stomach, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were flirting with me!"

"Shitty louse," he snarled.

"Sir," Tom moved to separate us as I used a grin to egg the idiot on, "I think it's best for you, and your health, if you just go home."

Opening my mouth to speak, I was interrupted by a painful cramping twisting my stomach. Pain too sharp to allow me to make a sound, I crumpled to my knees on the sidewalk. It felt like the vice grip of death itself squeezing my internal organs in its claws.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I am so sorry. This chapter is muchmuchmuch shorter than I intended it to be.

-pokerfais-

Thank you for all your feedback~!

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><p>Clutching at my bruised stomach with one hand, I occupied my other arm with the task of keeping me from falling face first into the pavement.<p>

"Oi! Flea!" the blond addressed me, "Get up."

On trembling legs, I tried to do exactly that to no avail. The pain made it impossible to stand.

"The hell is wrong with him?"

"I'm not sure," the calmer of the men knelt beside me for the second time that evening, "Sir…? Do you need help?"

Determined that the nausea and cramps would pass if I gave myself a moment, I shook my head adamantly. "F-fine," I claimed between clenched teeth. "I… _ngh_… I…"

I couldn't keep it back any longer. The sway of the world lost its magic as my face became much too hot and a pounding headache developed at the back of my skull. A few dry heaves tugged at my stomach, making me shiver once – violently – before the fourth was my stomach admitting defeat.

Just like any ordinary night, I thought it best to let it all out until I opened my eyes.

Black.

A shiver ripped through me.

As I stared at the substance I knew exactly what I had done to myself. I knew I had finally taken it too far. However; my focus on such a revelation was short lived when another gut wrenching heave forced more of the disgusting substance out of my stomach.

Choking, I suddenly found it difficult to breathe while my heart slammed painfully against my ribcage.

It was all I could do to blink back tears and stare at the man towering over me, silently begging for help.

My body was finally giving up on me, and I was far from ready to die.

Serious concern came over the man I had only just been flinging insults at. Now, I needed him. For some sick reason, I needed him to save me.

While Tom stared in shock, the blond joined him, kneeling at my side; all the while, staying careful not to get my puke on his boots. Reaching out with a tentative, trembling hand, he brushed my hair out of my wet eyes.

Frozen still, locked one-on-one despite my agony, I suddenly knew why he seemed so familiar. And my heart began to beat faster.

"Izaya…" he whispered, "Orihara Izaya."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note**: GAAAH! I am so sorry for the slow update. I got distracted. I do that. Fufufufufu. I'm sorry. Have a bit of a longer update to make up for it. And thank you for reading.

Please excuse my fail. I will try my best to be better from now on. OTL

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><p>"<em>He's so cold… Damn it! Why is he so cold?"<em>

"_Keep trying to wake him up. Is he still breathing?"_

"_I think so… barely…"_

"_Are you sure we shouldn't call an ambulance?"_

"_I'm sure. He can help. I know he can. He will… Just don't die yet… Izaya, don't die."_

"_Shit! He's turning blue!"_

"_The siren is already on. Drive faster."_

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><p>The very last thing I remember, before blacking out, was a mysterious calm washing over a gruff voice as it murmured my name. A look in those fiery eyes swirled with painful recognition.<p>

Didn't I…

Didn't I know you?

Yes… I was smaller then…

I was… someone else.

"He's waking up," a voice rang in my head as I left a world of unconsciousness plagued by nightmares.

By a steady beeping flooding through my right ear, I knew where I would find myself. It wouldn't have been the first time.

"I still don't believe it's him," that same voice said once again, "I thought he was long gone."

"So did I…"

It wasn't until I opened my eyes, blinking several times, before I realized that not only was I wrong, but I felt like absolute shit.

My eyes adjusted with some difficulty, sending pain shooting straight to my brain with any and all of the incoming light – no matter how dim.

Yes, it's true, I was surrounded by monitors tracking vital signs, with a needle in my arm. That much had been accurate enough. What I was not expecting was to find myself in a regular bed with a bespectacled brunet hanging over my shoulder; a cheeky, sadistic grin scrawled across his face.

Kishitani Shinra. Someone I could never forget.

"Welcome back," he told me, "In more ways than one."

Glancing around the room, my eyes soon fell on the angry blond, leaning against the wall beside the door. I couldn't help but smile with sick fascination.

"Shizu-chan…" I slurred the old nickname, pulling him closer with my eyes.

"You're a fucking idiot, y'know," he growled, leaning on the footboard. "Where the hell have you been!"

"Shizuo, I think we can play catch-up later," Shinra advised, gray eyes shifting to the heart monitor, "There are some things Izaya needs to know first."

I gave him a short nod, knowing where this was going. "It's alcohol poisoning."

"And you're an alcoholic, aren't you?" the doctor said, more as a fact than a question.

"Tch… call it what you want," I defensively clipped, "It's not what you think!"

With a roll of the eyes, I knew he had seen straight through me. It wasn't that difficult to figure out… simply impossible to admit…

"Don't act like you aren't aware that alcoholism is a disease, Izaya. When was the last time you ate, or more importantly, drank some water?"

But before I could answer him with just how many days it had been, he continued to speak.

"Your body shut down on you. You have what's called hermatemesis, caused by excessive drinking, and potentially liver disease. That black stuff you threw up was blood. Do you vomit often when you drink?"

"Ne? Sometimes… Nothing I can't control," I said, determined to stay hidden.

Both of the men standing over me knew I was full of shit…

"You have a serious problem," Shinra's eyes narrowed, "Last night, it nearly killed you. And that bruise on your abdomen? You should've gone to a hospital immediately."

Just as tired of his rambling as I was years ago, I waved him off, attempting to sit up when I felt an uncomfortable tug in my neck and chest. Reaching up, I pulled down the collar of the clean white shirt I had been changed into.

"What is this?" I glared at the foreign object hanging out of my chest.

"It's a CVC – central venous catheter – for blood tests. And don't you dare try to pull it out."

"And what happens if I do?" I challenged, feeling and hearing my heart begin to race.

I didn't like it. I didn't like that control was taken away from me, and I didn't care that it was saving my life.

"You'll die," he smirked.

"Liar," because he had never been any good at it.

"Just don't mess with it, Izaya. I'll remove it in a few days when the tear in your stomach heals."

"It hurts."

"Tell that to your liver."

I never could have admitted just how crushed I felt by those words. I didn't appreciate that kind of judgment when he had absolutely no idea what I had been through. Shinra had no idea what happened to me when I left Ikebukuro all those years ago…

"So where have you been?" Shizuo shot, staring at me from across the room.

Doctor's orders and a severe hangover kept me trapped in bed. No matter how much I wanted to leave this place, the blond across from me had even offered to stand watch to make sure I didn't escape. I despised him for being able to predict my moves, eradicating that idea from my list of options.

"What do you care?" I bit irritably, "Shouldn't you be out protecting your precious neighborhood?"

He shrugged, seemingly uncaring if that was the case.

I chuckled under my breath, "You didn't even recognize me. Tell me, Shizu-chan, how long did it take for you to forget I exist?"

"The same could be said for you, dumbass," the only person I ever truly loathed spat.

"Ah… well… I never intended on seeing you again, either."

Shizuo, and everybody else. All of them. I did not leave without purpose. The memories had another craving stirring within me. If we were going to have this conversation, I wanted to be numb.

"You look different," he grumbled, eyes falling to the floor, "A lot different than I expected you would…"

"Right back at you…"

"Yeah… but…"

"But I'm kind of trashy? Not what you'd expect from someone who graduated top of his class?"

"A lot has changed…"

"Everything has changed, Shizu-chan," I told him bitterly, as though I held some sort of resentment toward him.

I almost saw it like our places had been switched.

"What happened to you, Izaya? What turned you into this?"

Properly ashamed, I looked away, focusing my eyes on the dirt beneath my fingernails. It was a good question, but not one I was ready to answer. After all, there were a million things I could have asked him. I could have asked why he became a police officer, or when his anger became less than half of what it had been when I was provoking such malevolent ire in high school.

We were different people now.

I had clearly fallen down the very high ladder I'd climbed – the one I built to get to the top. Meanwhile, he had tamed a wild, dangerous beast that hid beneath the surface of his being.

Silently, I wondered if he still had that same implausible strength. I was willing to pass up the bottle for a day if only to find out.

"What?" I masked my obvious pain behind a smirk. "You don't like this new look of mine?"

"Seriously, Flea? A nose ring? I heard you graduated Todai with that thing, actually…"

"And I heard you're the only gay officer in your department."

"That," he gritted his teeth, "Is none of your business."

Having made that comment up off the top of my head, I smiled toward my own accuracy. Even with all of my issues, I still had a bit of talent left in this busted body of mine. Shizuo never had to say anything about his sexuality. All the pretty girls he'd turned down when we were teens made it fairly obvious.

"You haven't even come out yet, have you?" I laughed weakly, struggling to ignore the irritation caused by the tubes in my chest.

Watching the bright pink flush dust his cheeks was almost as delicious as downing a line of jello shots. Even I could admit – though I'd probably have to be wasted to verbalize it – my old enemy was a little cute when embarrassed. I enjoyed what I saw.

"N-no," he stuttered, "There…. There are a few people who know!"

"Like who? A few isn't coming out, you know. There's no shame in it if it's who you are."

"Oh? Just like there's no shame in drinking yourself to death?"

Heat flared up in my chest at his words, turning the tables on what seemed like a considerably smooth conversation. Suddenly, I couldn't look at him. I couldn't see his eyes without feeling the need to throw something at his skull.

I could stop.

Whenever I wanted.

When I was ready.

When I, Orihara Izaya, decided I'd had enough.

And that was one thing nobody could take away from me. I enjoyed living this way.

Tension was high, forcing my heart to gain speed while I could feel his eyes settled on me. Judging eyes. Always judging. It was a silent attack, pinning me down to my own discomfort. I wanted to scream, and yell, and run and –

I wanted, so badly, to drink these thoughts away.

So badly to feel that freedom wash down my throat and over my senses, blanketing me from painful moments like these…

Old friends and enemies… what difference did it make who they were, so long as I could drown them out of my thoughts like a plague of rats gnawing at the tattered box I kept my secrets in.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the lacking updates! For some reason, I'm really bad at this. Lol. I forget even when I'm updating something else and omfg. Busy. It's so much easier to update something that's already formatted and has been posted before. OTL

So I'm sorry! Thank you for sticking with me and reading this story. I have really enjoyed writing it and I can't wait to keep writing and post more. But for now, I must get to work and study and prepare for Christmas!

Please enjoy!

Thank you so much!

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><p>"He's never going to admit that he has a problem," I heard Shinra speaking in a harsh voice down the hall, "He's recovering fine, but as soon as I let him go, he's going to go straight back to drinking himself to death…"<p>

He paused, as if talking to himself. "I know, I know. We haven't seen him in years. So if that's the life he has chosen for himself… but…"

He sighed.

"Last time we saw him he wasn't like this. He was still my friend, so I'd like to think that he still is."

Friend? What friends? If he wanted to be my friend so badly, where was he when it all fell apart? Where was his support? Last time he'd even spoken to me he was telling me to deal with my problems myself as he shoved me out his front door.

"I know, Celty –"

Ah… so she was still around…

"We have to do something to help him. Maybe it isn't too late to get the old Izaya back."

Tch. The old or the sober? Nobody ever liked either one.

"The situation he's putting himself in could kill him. Yeah, he was a jerk in high school, but does that really mean we can leave him like that?"

….

"Shizuo? He'd never – I… I see… Th-that _could_ work."

Moments later, Celty entered the room, still headless with a message held out for me to read on a PDA much newer than the model I had last seen her with… seven years ago.

[_Welcome back_.]

And I was glad that some things had remained a constant since my leave.

"It must really suck being you," Shizuo scoffed, taking his usual place leaning against the wall.

Shinra rolled his eyes, sliding the IV needle out of my arm. I flinched at the slight sting and tug, staring as the tiny hole began to bleed.

"Oh well," I shrugged. I wanted to show him that he couldn't get to me the way I used to get to him. "At least I'm getting the hell out of here."

A look of guilt washed over Shinra's boyish expression. Forcing me down without a word, he continued his work of next inspecting the uncomfortable catheter from beneath my skin.

"What?" I stared at him suspiciously, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He grimaced, forcing a small grin onto his face, and the pieces came together easily. "I'm not removing this yet."

"Seriously? Why?" I started, "You told me –"

"You're not ready."

"The hell I'm not! I feel fine!"

My heart began to race, filling with panic in mere moments.

"Well, Izaya, I'm your doctor, and I say you're not ready," his voice shook slightly, while his gray eyes travelled back to Shizuo for reassurance. "I'm leaving it in until you're well."

"I'm _fine_!" I hissed, desperate to get the fuck out of his apartment and back to my own life – whatever that meant.

"I mean until you recover fully… from your… er… drinking problem…"

"What fucking drinking problem?" I used all of my force to shove him away from me.

Shizuo slid away from his spot, catching the doctor before he hit the floor. His narrowed, angry eyes clashed with my own.

"The one that has you acting like this!" he barked, gesturing toward me.

Regaining balance, Shinra looked at me with hurt in his eyes. Such an expression forced me to look away. I wouldn't feel guilty for it. This wasn't my fault for ending up like that and I wouldn't sit back and claim responsibility for it. I refused.

"I'm leaving it in so that I can continue to do blood work on you and keep you in good health."

"You're trying to experiment on me?" I easily jumped to conclusions, feeling that much more cornered when Celty appeared to check on the commotion.

Glaring at all three of them, I tried to keep away as best as possible by curling into a smaller mold and pressing against the headboard as if I could fall through it and disappear.

"Don't read it like that," Shinra pleaded, "I just want to help you!"

"How? How is this helping me?"

"Whether you'll admit it or not, Izaya, all of us know you have a life-threatening problem you need to work out. I'm going to see to it that you recover."

"There is nothing to recover from!" I glowered, resting my hand over the bruise I'd earned from that bar owner a week back. "I got a little sick. So fucking what? I'm better now."

I hadn't had a drink in too long. My head was a wreck, and these people who I once knew were making it worse than it needed to be.

"Look, flea, we're gonna give you two options here," Shizuo spoke up, "You're gonna fucking pick one. And you're gonna stop drinking."

"We know about your situation," Shinra backed him, "We also know you're currently homeless."

"None of your business," I grumbled, slumping my shoulders.

"I looked at your record," Shizuo said, "I know the shit you've pulled, about your DUI, assaults, threats, and your business with certain yakuza groups."

"Ne? I think assault and defending yourself are two logically different things," I shot the blond a cold glare, not seeing out any of this mattered to him.

He ignored the comment, bringing forth my ultimatum. "So here's how it plays out. You get two choices. The first is that you agree you have a problem and we do something about it."

"Meaning?"

Despite his blatant nervousness, Shinra smirked. "You're going to live with Shizuo for a while, attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, take whatever medications I prescribe to you, submit to blood tests every other day, and get your life back in order."

If there was a good time to laugh, it was now. And that's exactly what I did. "Oh God! HAHAHA! You two really had me going for a minute!" I snorted, trying not to completely break down into hysterics.

"It isn't a fucking joke," the police officer growled, "Because your second option is prison."

At that, the laughter died immediately. Untrusting of the blond, I gave my sharp leer back to him. "For what? You have nothing on me!"

"Don't we?" Shinra spoke dryly. "Celty, my dear?"

On cue, Celty tossed her lover a plastic bag.

"It's never too late to find this on you, Izaya."


End file.
